


Ellipses

by dogpoet



Series: Punctuation [7]
Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Dead of Winter, Hathaway's brain, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-06
Updated: 2011-10-06
Packaged: 2017-10-24 08:34:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/261293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogpoet/pseuds/dogpoet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the timeline of his life, there are events Hathaway would like to forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ellipses

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't use archive warnings because there is nothing graphic, but there are mentions of childhood sexual abuse and suicide in this story.
> 
> No footnotes, but I’ve used bits of A.E. Housman, Gerard Manley Hopkins, Dylan Thomas, W.B. Yeats, the Book of Ruth, Song of Solomon, and good old Percy Bysshe.
>
>>   
> Beta by [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/simoneallen/profile)[**simoneallen**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/simoneallen/)  
> 

Hathaway woke slowly, registering the warmth and the faint snoring emanating from the body beside him. Light filtered in around the edges of the blinds, but he closed his eyes against even that minor intrusion. He scooted closer to Lewis, who was lying on his back, arms pinning the covers down, as if he hadn’t moved all night. Hathaway worked an arm beneath Lewis’s, laid it across his belly, and watched him sleep.

He looks so relaxed when he’s like this. Young and old at the same time. His face. Wrinkles. Spot missed while shaving. Soft ear. Like how it feels under my lips. My blind hand under the covers touching the fur on his belly. Soft. Not like the hair below. The textures of him.

“Are you thinking again?” Lewis mumbled.

Hathaway pressed a kiss to the corner of Lewis’s mouth in answer.

“What time is it?”

Hathaway brought his arm out from under the duvet and stretched for Lewis’s phone, grunting. “Half seven.”

“Mm.” Lewis opened his eyes.

Hathaway hovered over him and kissed him — mouth, jaw, pulse point at his throat.

Beating of his heart under my tongue. Heart attack took his father at the age he is now. Scared me half to death when he told me that. Is that written on his body, pre-ordained? Trying to challenge fate: make him eat better, get him out for more exercise. Has he noticed? He’s lost weight since we started up. Never been good for anyone before.

His eyes. A bit of sleep. Crow’s feet. That blue. The way he looks at me. Feel my heart beat faster. Pavlovian response. Sixty to 100 in five seconds flat. Thumpthumpthumpthump. White noise.

A hand stilled Hathaway’s kisses. “You’ve got a one track mind, haven’t you? Hang on, let me go to the loo.”

Hathaway flopped onto his back, and watched as Lewis slid out of bed naked, half hard. He fumbled into his boxers before heading to the bathroom.

Wonder when I’ll break him of that habit. Walk around naked until he gets used to the idea? I suppose it’s from having children in the house. Or did he do it even before that? Modesty. But I like how he looks without them.

The sound of peeing and flushing carried into the bedroom. These noises were followed by quieter ones: the tap, something else. Hathaway kept his eyes on the door until Lewis reappeared a few minutes later and climbed back into the protective envelope of their bed. They lay on their sides, facing.

Lewis leaned forward to kiss Hathaway with a cold, minty mouth. “What are you up to today?”

Instead of answering, Hathaway slid a hand under the elastic of Lewis’s boxers.

“Besides that.”

His eyes when I do that. Want. Never thought him capable of looking that way until I saw it. That look undoes me.

“I might row,” Hathaway said, inching their bodies closer. “Will you come with me?”

If I row farther, he’ll walk farther. Need to quit smoking. Better for both of us. His heart. My lungs. Between us, only one healthy body. And a good detective, he said, once. His brain. If we were one person… But that would be less interesting than two.

“It’s supposed to rain today.” Lewis kissed him, tongue teasing his lip with the lightest of touches.

They became clumsy and haphazard as Hathaway worked Lewis’s boxers off, then reached unsuccessfully for the bedside table.

Lewis pushed him aside and rolled over to open the drawer himself. “What are — ? You bought rubber johnnies?”

Hathaway laughed. “I don’t think anyone’s called them that since Churchill.”

Blushing. Looking at the box like he’s never seen one before. Did I go too far? He’s puritanical in his way.

“What do we need these for?”

Difficult to talk to him about sex. Feel myself blushing, too. A pair, we are.

“I thought we could… The book says we should use them.”

“Ah,” Lewis said, still staring at the box. “You’re a bit…fixated, aren’t you?”

Am I? Do other people not feel this way?

“We don’t have to. If you don’t want to. Or you could do it to me if that’s better.”

“I wouldn’t know what to do! It’s not like it is with a woman, is it?”

“Well, it would be if you’d done it that way.”

“Oh, hush. We didn’t!”

“You could read the book.” Hathaway laid a hand on Lewis’s arm and rubbed it soothingly. He leaned to kiss the left shoulder.

“It’s just like you to get a book about it.” Lewis set the box back in the drawer, then turned to kiss Hathaway chastely on the lips.

“I like books.” Hathaway returned the kiss less chastely. “And you like my fingers.”

“I suppose you’ve yet to do something I don’t like,” Lewis admitted.

Uncertain. He’s already gone so far for me. Things he never even thought about before. He can barely say the word ‘sex’. Wonder if he’s ever said ‘fuck’. Can’t imagine him talking dirty. Is it age? Sixteen and trying to charm the knickers off any girl who came his way? No. Not in his nature. Love that about him. What made him that way?

He took Lewis’s hand and guided it between his legs.

The look on his face. Embarrassed. Doesn’t know what he’s doing. Mouth to my mouth. The way he cups my balls in his hand. Ache. Want. His fingers hesitant and light. Not sure where to go yet. Shiver. His hand. His fingers. Leg up. Make it easier for him. Our hands together. My fingers telling his where. Press there, yes. Feel like I could come just from this if he did it for long enough.

“Robbie.” He likes that. Still have to think every time I say it. Sometimes slip up during sex.

Lewis fetched the lube from the drawer. “Do you want — Just this? Or…?”

“Fingers. Then you’ll have time to read the book,” Hathaway said, low, in Lewis’s ear.

“Cheeky sod! If you’re so keen on the book, you can tell me about it, like you always do.”

Over a pint, reviewing anatomy and safety and positions. Patrons in the pub trying to listen. Or fleeing. Not sure which. Alternatively, go over the book in bed with demonstration. He’d be too embarrassed to look at me. Think I could talk about anything but that. Easier to recite Aquinas.

Hathaway took the lube from Lewis’s hand, opened it, and squirted the gel on his own fingers. Then he touched his fingers to Lewis’s, coating them, taking his time, rubbing each finger, up and down. Lewis responded in kind, pressing the pads of their fingers together.

I like this with him. The slow way he does things. Makes even this erotic. His finger to my finger. Fingerprint to fingerprint. The way he surprises me, stroking the bit of webbing between fingers, my palm. Little prayers. Divine ecstasy. More. Easier to say things without words. Put his hand where I want it. Slick fingers finding their place, pressing inside me.

“Am I hurting you?”

Hathaway shook his head, and kissed Lewis, hand on the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

Want him right now. Wish he’d. His fingers. His hands. The way he looks at me. What do I look like to him? He made me this way. Wide open. Want him to touch me everywhere. Shut off the brain. There. His fingers. Breathe.

One of their phones rang.

“Don’t,” Hathaway said. He hooked a foot around Lewis’s leg, preventing him leaving.

Lewis rolled Hathaway onto his back, nudging at his thigh with a slick hand. Hathaway spread his legs accommodatingly so Lewis could climb between them. The phone rang three more times, then ceased.

The sight of him with my cock in his mouth. His tongue. Fingers still touching me, rubbing. Falling apart. I’m really. I need.

“Can we? I want you now.” Hathaway gestured towards the bedside table.

Doesn’t know what I mean. Put my own fingers inside me. Make him understand.

“You want me to —?” Lewis paused. “But I haven’t read the book.”

“Screw the book.”

The ringing began again.

“Bloody hell,” Lewis said, moving away from Hathaway. “It’s mine, now. Must be work.” He peered at his phone. “Yeah.” He got up and pulled on his boxers again.

Saved by the bell. Would he have? He likes to please me. Once he gets used to an idea...

Hathaway lay on the bed, catching his breath, fisting his cock slowly. The tap handles squeaked as Lewis turned them, washing up.

Save so much time if he walked around naked. And I could look at him. Love him when he’s like this, desire written all over his body. His cock when it’s hard. Telling me things he feels, things he’d never say. It has a dirty language all its own: _suck me, let me fuck you, look how much I want you_. His face when he had his fingers inside me. Like he was seeing a miracle. What I am to him. A miracle? Heart rate slowing now. If it’s really work, we can’t finish. Wanted a lazy morning with him. He’d fall asleep after. Wake him with kisses. Spend the day together.

Lewis returned to the bedroom and picked up his phone. “Duty calls,” he said, resigned, dialling. He sat on the bed while he waited for an answer. He laid a hand on Hathaway’s hip, trailed his fingers along it. “It’s Lewis, yeah. Where is it? That’s all right. I’ll pick him up on my way. Thanks.” He disconnected the call. “You should see yourself.” He touched Hathaway’s cheek with curled fingers before bending to kiss him. “I’ll read the book,” he said. “But we’ve got a suspicious death in Jericho first.”

‘’ 

The block of flats sat along a narrow street in Jericho, and by the time they arrived at the address, rain had lowered the height of the sky, and the buildings were the hue of the pavement.

Lewis parked the car beside the kerb, and he and Hathaway exited as one, squinting against the rain. Two marked cars sat nearby, and a uniformed officer greeted them at the door.

“Second floor,” he said. “It’s not pretty.”

As if it ever is. Why, again, did I decide to do this? Look death in the face every day. Never take life for granted when you see it snuffed out. There and gone. As if I need the reminder. Following him up the stairs. His heart beating. Wonder what his arteries look like inside. Inside, outside. The shape of him under his suits. Heart beating a little faster. Later.

Abruptly, Lewis stopped at the landing, and turned as if to say something. Hathaway narrowly avoided crashing into him.

Hathaway peered past Lewis to see an officer and a familiar young man, whose blotchy face showed he’d been crying.

Titus Mortmaigne. What is he —?

“He called it in,” the officer said. “She’s inside.”

I can barely step into the suit. Limbs not working. Briony. Must be. Had in my mind to check on her, but never did. Has she been living with him? His face. Never could tell if he really cared for her. Love? Or something else? Rebellion? Sex? Those cuts on her wrists. She is me. Running through the woods on the estate, running until my lungs hurt. Into my heart an air that kills.

In their protective gear, they stepped into the flat’s single room. The bed lay beside the windows overlooking the street. It was covered by a hand-stitched quilt. A small kitchen area took up one corner, and beside it was an open doorway through which Dr Hobson was visible, kneeling beside the bathtub in the cramped bathroom. She looked up when she heard them.

Don’t want to look. My job. Briony. Light on the ceiling not even covered. Barely room to stand. This is where she lived. Blood on the floor. Water. Her last words. His hand on my arm.

“Why don’t you have a look round the place. I’ll —” Lewis tilted his head towards the bathtub.

Hathaway didn’t immediately obey, but looked past Lewis for a few seconds longer. Finally, he turned to his task, homing in on the desk out of habit.

“Poor lamb,” he heard as he walked away.

Her last moments. That cave of a room. The rest of the flat not much better. Things she brought from Crevecoeur — painting I remember, that quilt. Hateful as it was, it was home. The feeling of losing everything in one fell swoop: home, parents. But not Titus. Strange they were still in contact. I’ll talk to him. Focus on the details. Like any other case.

He examined the contents of the desk, reading the titles of the books, scanning the papers left there.

Must have started uni. Typical freshers’ books. Photographs. Diary. Always feel guilty reading diaries. Too private. Her words. Is there no note? Her last entry three days ago. _don’t know what to do. I_ Not a note.

Before reading further, he made his way to the corner that held the refrigerator and the tiny folding table. Still no note. Suspicious. Maybe she had nothing to say. Facts of her life tell all. I never wrote a note. Not even one that got thrown away later. Cutting herself. A habit. Today was only one step farther. From her point of view, not worth noting. A deeper cut, that’s all. Line between life and death.

With no note, he sat at the kitchen table to read the diary instead. The handwriting was rounded and young, and the letters filled the small pages.

The darkness of her days. Not enough to sustain her. She and I. What was the difference? I had places to go. People to take me in. Mrs McEwan. Aunt Mary. Is that all it would have taken to save Briony?

“James?”

Himself.

Hathaway looked up, his hand still on his place in the diary. “There’s no note, but if we can verify the handwriting, I’d say her diary is fairly conclusive.”

“Let’s talk to Titus.”

Hathaway glanced out of the window above the sink.

This grey day. Summer, but it reminds me of when we were at Crevecoeur. The almighty hath dealt very bitterly with me. She has no bible. Would God have saved her? Did he save me? Led me down the wrong path in some ways, but kept me from death? I went out full and the Lord hath brought me home again empty.

Lewis waited until Hathaway got up from the chair.

Crevecoeur, when he asked me to stay. I wanted to leave. Entreat me not to leave thee. Misread that passage at first. Entreat me // not to leave thee. Instead of: Entreat me not // to leave thee. He asked me not to leave. Entreated me in his way. I wasn’t empty but filled with unexpected things.

‘’ 

“Any joy?” Lewis said, appearing at the door to the office in the late afternoon.

Hathaway looked up from his computer. “She was seeing a counsellor. I spoke with him, and he confirmed that he was treating her for depression. She was on medication.”

Lewis sighed. “Didn’t do her much good, did it?”

“What did Hobson say?”

“Self-inflicted.”

He’d almost rather it was murder. He could do something about it, then. Helpless now. Can’t change the past.

“She had her whole life ahead of her. I don’t understand it.”

I do. Remember standing in the woods with the groundskeeper’s rifle. Cold air. Cold metal. Too young to understand what I was doing. Thought every day would be like those days, filled with pain. Didn’t think it would ever get better. The happy highways where I went and cannot come again.

“Both her parents are dead, sir. She didn’t have the strength to go on.”

“But we got Mortmaigne. She —” He shook his head.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I know, but it could only get better, couldn’t it? I wish she could’ve seen it.” He sat on the edge of Hathaway’s desk. “Are you about ready?”

In answer, Hathaway hit ‘save’, then ‘exit’, and shut the computer down.

Outside, gusts of wind tossed the branches, scattering leaves and leftover raindrops. The sky hovered grey above them.

Leaves, like the things of man. Weather suits my mood. Feels like autumn. Will be soon. Bank holiday weekend coming up. Manchester. Thought of it ties my stomach in knots. He hasn’t told Lyn yet. How would I feel if my father…? Pointless to wonder. Outside my realm of experience. Can’t imagine what it’ll be like for her. She likes me now she thinks I’m just his sergeant, getting him to play squash and eat sushi. Different story altogether when she finds out we’re sharing a bed. How we look from the outside.

Hathaway waited for Lewis to unlock the car and get in. Inside, it was warm and quiet and still, sheltered from the wind.

His shirt wrinkled. Tie loosened. I like how he is at the end of the day, unwinding. When he’s mine. Unspool him in my bed.

“Your car’s at mine,” Lewis said. “Do you want to…?”

Always uncertain, like he can’t believe I’d want to stay over with him again. Surprised he doesn’t get tired of me. We’re together so much.

“I should pick up clothes,” Hathaway said.

Noticed he made room in his wardrobe for me. Made room in the bathroom for my things. Buying doubles of everything. One for my flat, one for his. I all but live there. Should give up on my flat altogether. But then if something happened, I couldn’t go back. And something always happens.

Of course, even with the flat. I couldn’t go back.

The windscreen wipers made a rhythmic sound, clearing away raindrops and bits of debris. Hathaway watched Lewis’s profile against the car window, against passing leaves.

‘’ 

Lewis stood, shirtsleeves rolled up, wiping down the worktop while Hathaway neatly wrapped leftover slices of homemade pizza in foil and placed them in the fridge.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” Lewis said. “Everything all right?”

Need to stop seeing myself in her. That could have been me. Up to the swallow thronged loft by the shadow of my hand. There but for the grace of God. A miracle I ended up here, standing in this kitchen. Thirty-three years old. Still thinking of all those things long ago. Moments when I think I’m going to fall apart. And then it passes, and I’m still here.

He looked up at Lewis, who was watching him carefully.

“Sometimes I’m afraid to touch you,” Lewis said, staying where he was, leaning on the opposite worktop. “I don’t know if you’re remembering or…”

“It was a long time ago.”

Quiet. Waiting for me.

“And he didn’t — he didn’t hurt me,” Hathaway continued. Mortmaigne. What is ‘maigne’? Corruption of ‘main’? Dead hand. How it felt when he touched me. Or ‘manus mortua’? Ownership of possessions. The air that kills. Opposite of ‘bright fame’.

“Maybe not physically. Did he — ?”

“What?”

Lewis shook his head. “Never mind. It’ll only make me angry.”

“He touched me. He made me touch him. Is that what you want to know?” Why is something that lasted so short a time still with me? Hate that it somehow defines who I am. Hate how it changed me.

“I don’t like the idea of anyone _making_ you do anything.”

His mouth tight. He gets upset when he can’t right a wrong. Like today with Briony. Never lets go of those cases. Chloe Brooks. Kept thinking about it until he solved it ten years on. Working his whole life to get rid of injustice. Robbie the Just. James the Just. In that, we’re the same.

“It was only because of Paul that I said something. I’d never understood before then what happened in the summer house,” Hathaway said. “He had it far worse than I did. And for much longer.” Things that form you. Thought all homosexuality was a sin afterwards. Black and white when you’re young. That phase I went through after the fight with Will, picking up men to prove to myself it was all right. Not much cop in that either.

“If I’d been there — I wish — I don’t know. Impossible things.” Lewis picked up the tea towel and hung it on the handle of the oven door.

Hasn’t touched me all night, not like he usually does. Worried I won’t want to? But I do want. Need. He won’t unless I ask him to.

Hathaway leaned forward to kiss Lewis, a quick brush of lips. He hugged him tightly, chin resting on his shoulder, and remained that way until he felt Lewis return the embrace.

“My octopus.” Lewis rubbed Hathaway’s back.

Hathaway kissed Lewis’s neck. “I feel like a bath. Will you come in with me?”

“Nah, it bothers me back. Besides, the tub’s barely big enough for you. Go on. I’m going to ring Lyn. She’s been sending me pictures of baby furniture. Blimey. What do I know about bloody decorating?”

Pleased. Embarrassed. Love that I can do that to him. Change his mood. Hathaway smiled.

‘’ 

Drops of hot water fell steadily from the tap into the bath. Hathaway watched them: plop, plop, plop. He’d left the door to the bathroom ajar, and he could hear Lewis wandering about, chatting with Lyn. Through the half open window, he could see a patch of night sky.

This bathroom. So different to this morning. Briony in her bathroom alone, that bare bulb above her. In the bathtub. Water makes it go faster. Her stigmata. Poor lamb, he called her. Isaac. Wonder if she thought about God at all, if she even believed. Life like that makes you think you’ve been abandoned. By God. By everyone. She was. Both parents gone. Strange how similar to me. Lord Mortmaigne, killing everything he touched. Dead hand. My mother hiding in her bedroom, lying in the dark all day. They never let me see her body. Didn’t believe it until the funeral. Kept thinking I’d turn the corner and she’d be there.

Hathaway stared at the ceiling, trying to breathe. He slid under the water, eyes open, looking through it, then came up again, gasping.

Imbalance of loss. Looking in the mirror and thinking: this is it; me. There’s no one else. No reason to live. Each day in pieces before it even started. Dad on the steps of aunt Mary’s building, hand on my shoulder. Months into years. He might as well have been dead. In the church tower, looking down. How far to the ground? How many seconds? Would I have felt anything? I’m lucky I made it past that. The bells of Oxford saved me. Something like fate. Here now. Listening to his voice. Warm. My body, whole and happy. His hands later. Glad I didn’t have to go home alone. Worst thing about this job: facing yourself at the end of the day. Much better this way. Does he feel the same?

Lewis’s footsteps neared, and Hathaway ceased his washing, listening.

“Still all right if I come up at the bank holiday weekend? Yeah. I was thinking I might bring James.” Lewis appeared briefly in the gap between door and jamb. He smiled at Hathaway before disappearing again. “I’ll still bring him at Christmas. Don’t fret.”

Thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthump. He’s asking her. Hasn’t said, though, has he? What we are. No. She thinks he’s being kind. Bringing the lost soul along. Will I have to sleep on the sofa? It’s only two weeks away. He’ll have to say. Not like him to pretend something else.

“I enjoy his company, that’s all. He made me pizza for dinner. Rocket and tomatoes and feta cheese. Yeah, I know, but it was good.”

Lewis’s voice grew fainter.

Might as well tell her I’m naked in his bathtub. If she’s got half her father’s brains, she’ll figure it out before the conversation’s over. Two and two generally equal four. Only thing in his favour is that he hasn’t got a deceitful bone in his body. She’d likely think if we were shagging, he’d have told her by now. Suppose that’s what he’s doing in his way. Break it to her gradually. Next he’ll tell her he made room in his wardrobe for my clothes. Bathroom cabinet a bit more crowded now, pet, we’ve got two razors, two shaving foams, two soaps, contact solution, and, wait, what’s this? Enema kit? That would go over well.

He stared at his golden hair waving in the water, his soft penis, his long legs stretched before him, toes propped on the ledge near the tap. His distorted reflection stared back at him. With one hand, he idly pulled his foreskin back and cleaned underneath.

My body then and now. None of the same cells. Does the body remember things the mind doesn’t? Even so, it would only last as many years as the cells. Brain must work differently. Transfer memory to new cells all the time to keep things longer. Otherwise things get lost. Updating the hard drive. Don’t even remember what I looked like then. See twelve-year-olds now, and they look like babies. Was that me? Hard to imagine. Nothing I cared in the lamb white days. Time passes, and you can’t get it back. Sounds like something he’d say. Time held me green and dying though I sang in my chains like the sea.

Hathaway finished scrubbing the rest of his body, then pulled the plug out of the drain with his toes. He remained in the tub as the water receded.

Ticklish. Why is that? Motion of the water. Moisture evaporating from skin in cool room. Nipples pebbling up. I should get out. Read in bed. Or sit on the sofa with him and watch telly. Haven’t played guitar on my own since he was in Italy. I should bring it over here. Would he mind? Practice tomorrow. Haven’t looked over the music at all. Forgot it at my flat. He’s changed my routines.

Hathaway stood and rubbed himself dry with a towel, pausing to peer out of the dark window into the night before turning off the light.

‘’ 

Barefoot but dressed in a t-shirt and jogging bottoms, Hathaway wandered out to the living room with a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. Lewis, blushing, looked up from the book he was reading. Hathaway stopped to peer over Lewis’s shoulder, kissing his neck as he did so.

“I see you’ve got to the relevant parts.”

“You put little post-its on. I couldn’t exactly miss them, could I?”

“I try to be helpful.”

“Leave me be. It’s hard enough to read without you leaning on me.”

Hathaway kissed him one more time before going outside to smoke.

Endearing how he’s so easily embarrassed. How did I ever get him in bed? Surprised by it every day. Feel I fooled him somehow. He’ll figure it out any moment now.

Hathaway propped open the building’s outer door, looking up at the clouded sky. He lit his cigarette and inhaled deeply, letting the chemicals rush through his body.

On the other side of the wall, he’s sitting there reading about it. Foreplay. Not long before we’ll be doing it. How will it be? It’s just bodies. Nothing really different to what we’ve been doing. Still. Want it. Joined. In divine ecstasy. Wonder what he’s thinking.

He blew a last puff of smoke, then flicked the butt onto the pavement before going inside. At the door to the flat, he paused for a moment to watch Lewis reading.

“What?”

Hathaway closed the door and padded to the sofa. He sat beside Lewis, and Lewis’s arm circled round him automatically.

“It’s a bit involved, isn’t it?” Lewis laid the book aside.

Nervous. That makes two of us. My heart beating. Thumpthumpthumpthump. Kiss him. Predictable response. Always afraid at first that he’d pull away, change his mind. Not sure what I would have done. But here he is. His tongue, mouth open to me. Let me in anywhere. Touch me anywhere. His heart beating as fast as mine. Blood racing under my hand, rushing to other parts of him. White noise. Miracles. Did God give this to me? Things I don’t understand. His hand in my hand. His hand under my shirt. His hand. His hand. His hand. The work of his hands. Blasphemy. That time I wondered about Christ’s nipples. Wondered what was under that cloth when he was up on the cross.

Lewis’s hands stilled him. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

Watching me, looking for signs. His forehead wrinkling up. Worry. When did the first line appear, I wonder. Likely he doesn’t remember. Not vain enough to have worried about it then.

Hathaway brought one hand up, smoothing the wrinkles from Lewis’s forehead, leaned close to press a kiss to his cheek. He placed light kisses in a line down Lewis’s neck, unbuttoned his shirt to kiss his collarbone, mouthing the graceful rise of it. He paused to look up at Lewis’s face.

“That’s answer enough, I reckon,” Lewis said, brushing Hathaway’s ear with gentle fingers. “You’ve got some yourself, you know.”

“What?”

“Lines.” He pressed a thumb to Hathaway’s forehead. “I’m rather fond of them meself. Makes me feel like I’m not so old.”

Hathaway wrinkled his forehead as much as he could. “Shall I work on more for you?”

“Don’t be daft.” Lewis looked away, smiling.

Love when he smiles like that. His pointy canines. How they feel under my tongue. Takes years off his face when he really laughs. Laugh enough to live longer. There are studies to support that. Lines on his face. His story. The reason he understands me. Double-edged sword. I’ll never catch up with him. As the heart grows older, it will come to such sights colder. How many people can you lose in one lifetime and still go on?

He laid his head on Lewis’s chest, burrowing close.

“Come to bed,” Lewis suggested.

“I had plans to watch telly with you.”

“Did you?”

“Not really, no.” Hathaway scrambled onto Lewis’s lap, kissing him, feeling for the sharp tip of canine.

Lewis drew him closer, one hand on his arse, the other on his thigh. “Bed. I’m not carrying you. I don’t think I _could_.”

“Please don’t try, sir.” Hathaway got up. “Robbie,” he corrected when Lewis opened his mouth to protest.

He did carry me, once. Memory fuzzy. But afterwards, I remember that. In hospital, waking to find him looking at me. The first moment I was attracted to him. Wanted him. Felt it in my body. A current. Wider awake around him. Things I’d never noticed before. His smell. The way he sometimes touched my shoulder or my arm. If he’d asked me then, I would have said yes. Kept wishing for it, and he never asked. In hindsight, a good thing. I have him now.

Hathaway lay on his back on Lewis’s bed, still dressed, looking at the familiar ceiling, feeling the familiar duvet under his bare arms. He watched Lewis remove his shirt and trousers. Watched him peel the covers aside and climb under them.

“Are you going to stay out there?” Lewis asked, reaching over to stroke Hathaway’s arm.

“Mm,” Hathaway answered, draping his whole body on top of Lewis, the duvet between them. He rested there for a minute as Lewis wrapped both arms round him. “What did Lyn say?”

“She’s excited to meet you.”

“You didn’t tell her we were shagging.”

“She might suspect.”

“I imagine so. Heredity.”

“What?”

“Deductive powers and so on. You probably gave some of those to her.”

“Yeah.” Lewis lifted the hem of Hathaway’s t-shirt and caressed the skin of his back. “I’ll have another chat with her. I wasn’t up to doing it all in one go.”

Hathaway thrust his hips against Lewis’s, and raised himself up on his elbows, hovering to kiss him. “You’re doing admirably.” He reached for the bedside table, finding the condoms and lube in short order.

Hands suddenly shaking. Idiotic. No reason to be nervous now. Stop thinking. Just do. Get my clothes off. His clothes. His body filled with want already. Thumpthumpthumpthump. One thousand beats per minute. What is it about desire? He shows it differently. Looks at me differently to anyone else. Is that what time does? Hardly recognise him in the pictures from before. Round-faced, young. Streaks of grey in his hair now. Leaner. As if some of the things he’s seen have taken pieces of him; others left their mark. Somewhere, traces of me on him. Him on me.

From beneath Hathaway, Lewis said, “Slow down, love.” He placed one steady hand on Hathaway’s left side, the other on his right, and guided him onto his back. “Let me.” He kissed Hathaway deliberately, in no hurry, kissed his mouth and his shoulder and his knuckles. He kissed nipple and stomach and hip bone, thatch of hair and pale thigh, balls and shaft and glans. He sucked the head of Hathaway’s cock into his mouth, paying every part of it equal attention with his tongue until Hathaway’s breaths became quick and shallow.

Hathaway fumbled for the lube.

“Right, then.” Lewis took the tube, sat up, and squirted some gel onto his fingers. He repositioned himself between Hathaway’s legs before touching him.

Himself. All of him down to those fingers. All of me down to the places he’s touching me. Friction enough to kill me, feels like. Break me apart. My beloved put in his hand. And I rose up to open to him. What’s he thinking? Looking at me, watching my face. Do not hide your face from me. Entreat me not. Entreat me. Entreat me not. Entreat me. Entreat me not. Entreat me. Anointed and laid down. What was it she said to Boaz? Spread thy skirt over thine handmaid.

Hathaway reached for the condoms, tore open the box, and removed one of the packets. He handed it to Lewis.

“You’re going to have to help me with this thing.”

“I’m not exactly an expert.” Hathaway sat up, took the packet back, ripped it open, and fumbled with the slippery condom, unrolling it onto Lewis’s cock with some difficulty.

“How do you want — to be?” Lewis sat on his heels, waiting, watching.

Imagined it all kinds of ways. Anything. Everything. Want. Ache. Don’t know how to say. Can tell him all kinds of things in text messages, then lose my tongue when we’re face to face.

“Here,” Lewis said, lying on his back and piling an extra pillow under his head. He gestured to Hathaway. “Come here.”

He always does that. Never pins me down. Must be on purpose. Never realised before tonight how much he worries about upsetting me. He’s probably used to it the other way round. Traditionalist. The way he reacted this morning. _Anal sex? Never!_ Strictly by the book. Until I gave him a different book. Did his reading, too. Didn’t think he would. He surprises me sometimes.

Hathaway straddled Lewis’s hips, then leaned close to kiss him. With one hand, he reached between their bodies, fingers sliding against lube and latex. Lewis’s fingers bumped into his, and they guided his cock into position.

“Okay?” Lewis asked.

It feels strange. My innards being pushed around. Not used to it. Different to his fingers. Can’t decide if I like it. Can’t tell him that.

“We can stop.”

“I don’t want to stop.”

Both still, they looked at one another. Lewis laid a hand on Hathaway’s chest, and let it drift downwards to Hathaway’s softening cock. He teased with his fingers until it responded to his touch.

“Give us a kiss.”

Hathaway began to move, slowly at first, bending to kiss Lewis. Lewis grabbed hold of Hathaway’s arse, kneading gently.

“You feel…” Lewis said, but didn’t finish his thought. His hands adjusted the pace of Hathaway’s movements and the angle of his hips.

When he does that — and if I move like this — he always knows how to touch me. Like a sixth sense. Our bodies colliding. Molecules. His cock sparking things inside me. Almost too much. Like shattering. Light shattering. Unstoppable force and immovable object. Incomprehensible. Wish his light could go on long after. Like a star. Bright fame. Here even after it’s gone. Sun young once only. Sorrows of your changing face.

Braced on his hands, Hathaway watched Lewis’s shifts in expression, kissing him messily, missing his mouth, teeth bumping into his chin as they both sped up the pace.

His face. His face. Never want to stop looking, stop feeling. How he is inside me. Want more of him. Do not hide your face from me. Entreat me. Entreat me. Entreat me. Entreat me. Entreat me. Entreat me. His body taut as a string. Stretched near breaking, then releasing. Crying out with it. His arms round me. My own hand. My life. Spilling my seed with his. The fountains mingle with the river. And the rivers with the ocean. Nothing in the world is single. Entreat me.

Hathaway tried to breathe, his eyes suddenly filled with tears, his nose tingling. “I have to go to the loo,” he said, lifting himself up and off of Lewis.

What’s wrong with me? Feels like something’s sitting on my lungs. This happened with Zoe, too. A bloody crybaby every time I have sex. Didn’t happen with him until now. Why is that? Grief? Will’s death. Briony’s. A mess.

“You all right?” Lewis asked, reaching for Hathaway’s hand. “James?”

Hathaway didn’t answer or look back, but made his way to the bathroom. Once there, he shut the door and leaned against the cold wall, trying to breathe normally, trying to hold back a sob. It came regardless. Hathaway launched himself off of the wall and to the sink, turning on the cold tap and splashing his face with water.

Nose running. Getting stuffed up. Does this happen to other men? Unlikely. It came on so suddenly. Vision of losing him. Of never having this again. Life so fragile. See it every day. Physical pain if he were taken away from me. Like when I thought he might retire. Agony. Don’t know how to live without him anymore.

Lewis knocked on the door. “James?” There was a silence, as if he was thinking of what to say next. “Are you — Can I come in?”

Hathaway wiped his nose with the heel of his hand. The door opened slowly, even though he hadn’t answered. Lewis peered round the edge.

“Look at you.” He stepped into the room. “Did I hurt you?”

Hathaway shook his head, unable to speak.

Lewis reached for the toilet roll, and tore off a strip. “Here.” He studied Hathaway’s face with concern.

Must have worried him. He’s naked. Never leaves the bedroom naked. Feel like a child. I sound ridiculous, all bunged up. Dever bore thy bellow voice bake belody with bide. It must be this day. All these reminders. Hate when the past rears its ugly head. Wish I could cut it off and leave it behind. Make myself anew. Stop being someone who cries when he has sex.

Hathaway blew his nose loudly, threw the tissue in the bin, and accepted another strip of toilet roll. He washed his hands and face again, then roughly rubbed them dry with a towel.

He’s watching me. I don’t know what to say. Put my arms round him. Kiss his neck. Actions louder.

Hathaway yawned stutteringly, getting air back into his lungs. Lewis held onto him, silently pressing kisses to his hair and his ear.

“Do you want to talk about —”

“No,” Hathaway interrupted, yawning again, sniffling.

“All right,” Lewis said. “All right.” He rubbed Hathaway’s back with long, slow strokes.

Suddenly sleepy. Exhausted. I can feel his heart. Hear him breathing. His thoughts, wondering. He’ll leave me. Day unknown. Before death or at his death. At my death? Either way. Why couldn’t I be older? I wouldn’t change him. Change myself instead. Already a middle-aged man, Jonjo said. Can’t lose someone if you’ve never met them. Would I go back and change that? Already too late by the time I picked him up at the airport. Erase that day? He’ll disappear. No matter how I entreat him not to leave me.

‘’ 

The corridors of the station made little contrast with the dull and grey outside, a continuation of the weather from the day before. Hathaway approached Dr Hobson’s office, footsteps leaden.

Pointless errand. He wanted to get me out of the office. Acting strange all day. Careful around me. It’s not as if he doesn’t have his reasons. All but had a nervous breakdown in his arms last night. He didn’t know what to do. Must be wondering what set me off. Thinks it’s about sex. He’ll be reluctant to do it again.

“Ah, Sergeant,” Hobson said when she spotted him. She held out Briony Grahame’s post mortem report.

“Thank you.” He reached for the folder, but she withdrew it.

Waiting for him to look at her, she said, “He’s worried about you, you know.”

Hathaway gave in and met her eyes, but said nothing.

“Boys,” she sighed. “Give him a little to go on, why don’t you?”

“I don’t think it’s any of your business.”

“Despite what I might have thought at first, I do want things to work out.” She waited for a response, but he gave none. “All right. Enough of that,” she said, tapping his arm with the folder. “Get on with you.”

Relieved, Hathaway accepted the file and turned on his heel.

Awkward that she knows. Can’t get used to it. The way she looks at me now, as if she’s assessing me. Sometimes amused — when she sees us together. I wonder what he said to her. James cried like a baby in bed last night, what did I do? He’d think it was stupid if he knew. Or maybe not. Experienced in loss. We both are. Can’t exactly say it to him in those words: Even if you stay with me, when I’m 50, you’ll be 75, and no one in your family has ever lived a day past 70. Ticking bomb in your heart. Tick, tick, tick. Though I sang in my chains like the sea.

Why am I even worried about it? Not as if it will last. Will it? He’ll grow tired of me. Or if I change my mind? I don’t think I will. Will I? More likely he will.

When he arrived back at their office, Lewis looked up, startled, and put away the papers he’d been reading. Hathaway dropped Briony’s file on the desk.

“We can do things electronically now, sir.”

“I like paper,” Lewis said, sounding testy. “You’ve got your band tonight, haven’t you?”

He knows I do. “Until nine.”

Lewis nodded. “I might stay late and finish this.”

“You? Writing the report?”

“I can write reports. I did them all the time for Morse.” Lewis shuffled the papers. “Corrected my grammar, he did.”

“Punctuation.”

“That, too,” Lewis smiled at him.

Something on his mind, definitely. Will he come over later? Or should I go there? Wish we could discuss it here, but best not. Wouldn’t do to be overheard, even though we made plans all the time before. Wonder if people might find it odder that we aren’t anymore. Office jokes about us having a domestic.

Lines in his face as he concentrates. Forming the words for Briony’s report. Elegy of sorts. If I had to choose someone to sum up my life… He’s tender-hearted. She probably reminded him of Lyn. Like seeing his own daughter hurt herself, maybe. Does it show on his face? What he’s thinking. Never an open book, even now.

Hathaway watched Lewis, ignoring his own paperwork from an earlier case.

Lewis looked up. “What?”

“Nothing.” Hathaway returned to what he’d been doing.

‘’ 

Hathaway paused outside Lewis’s flat, guitar in one hand, cigarette in the other. He studied the building’s lit windows as he smoked. After a long drag, he flicked the butt aside, unlocked the outer door of the building with his key, and went inside.

Will he mind my bringing the guitar over? Forgot to ask him. My baby. Lost forever without him. Surprised me at the time. All the effort he went to to find it.

When he opened the door to the flat, he found Lewis sitting on the sofa, reading a casefile. Lewis set the folder aside.

Hathaway haphazardly toed off his shoes as he crossed the room. “Bringing work home?”

“How was practice?” Lewis asked, ignoring the question.

Hathaway set his guitar down, then leaned over to kiss Lewis, one knee on the sofa cushions. “Good. Do you mind my guitar here?”

“Of course not.”

Hathaway kissed him again, lingering.

“Sometimes I forget how tall you are,” Lewis said, gazing up. “It took some getting used to.”

“My being tall?” Hathaway flopped onto the sofa.

“I never kissed anyone taller before.”

“Mm,” Hathaway agreed.

Never thought of that. I’m always tallest. Must have been strange for him. All the things he’s had to get accustomed to. He handles it with equanimity. His good qualities. Looking at me oddly again. Been at it all day.

“James….” Lewis looked down at his lap.

Something in his voice. Serious discussion voice.

“I — with Briony — I thought at first it was because she reminded you of Lord Mortmaigne, but it wasn’t just that, was it?”

“Sir?”

“You’ve always reacted to the suicides…”

My heart beating. Throat closing up. Breathe. What is he going to ask? The way he was all day. Furtive, now I think about it.

Lewis took a deep breath. “Look, I didn’t mean to pry, but I had a hunch, and when I found your name in the records… I don’t know what I was doing, what I was thinking, but…”

What is he talking about? My name? Not my mother?

“I read your mother’s file.”

My mother. Yes. She must be on record. The police came. Suspicious death. She left no note. No last words to me. It’s a file. Anyone can read it. But he —

“Why would you do that? Why didn’t you ask me?”

“Because you don’t answer when I ask you things! You were upset yesterday. You can’t blame me for wanting to know why. If something could affect your work, then I need to know about it.”

Hathaway scrambled to his feet. “We’re not _at_ work! It’s not your business.”

“Like hell it’s not!” Lewis said hotly, his voice louder than usual. “We’re — I’m trying to understand what’s going on with you, that’s all. Forget work. When something affects you, I need to know.”

“Did you try to look up my father, too? Is that all my life is? Police reports? Did it never occur to you that there’s a reason I don’t talk about it?”

A series of crimes. Tragedies. Mortmaigne. My mother. My father. Aunt Mary. Everyone dies. Try to think of things that have gone right in my life.

Lewis was silent for a long moment. “I made a mistake,” he said, finally. “Looking without asking you, all right. Can you let it go?”

Hathaway paced away from the sofa, staring up at the ceiling.

“You looked into Val’s case without asking,” Lewis continued when Hathaway didn’t answer.

“That was different! That was an unsolved crime. And if I remember, you were angry.”

“Not angry you looked into it, angry you waited to tell me about Monkford!”

His despair. I’d have done anything to assuage it. Felt it physically when he was down on his hands and knees, searching Oswald Cooper’s office. He doesn’t get the difference. I’m not searching for answers. I want to forget. Always worse when someone you trust betrays you. Expect it from humanity at large. But not from him.

“I need another cigarette,” Hathaway said suddenly. “I’m going home.”

Lewis got up and placed a hand on Hathaway’s arm. “You are home. Can you listen for a minute?”

Hathaway jerked away, feeling in his pocket for his cigarettes. He withdrew one and tapped it against the packet.

“Stop. Can you talk to me?”

“I don’t _want_ to talk.”

“Do you think I like this? Gathering you up like evidence? Putting clues together? Do you think I really _needed_ that file? I watch you every day. I _see_ you. That file only confirmed what I already suspected. And your father — I knew he was as good as dead to you, even if he wasn’t really dead. I didn’t need to see the death record, did I?”

“It doesn’t matter. You had no right!”

Lewis backed off. “No. I know. But I only did it because I was worried about you. Even if you were only me sergeant, you’re a damn good one, and I wouldn’t want to lose you. But you’ve been more than that for a long time now, even before you kissed me. I don’t know what you are, if you’re me boyfriend or me partner or — or what. All I know is that every morning, I wake up, and I’m grateful to have another day with you. I don’t know how I ever did without you. You’re me family.”

Hathaway, who had been avoiding Lewis’s eyes, looked up sharply.

“Don’t look so shocked. What did you think? That I’d tell our Lyn about you for no reason at all? I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you, not if I have anything to say about it.”

Lewis steadied himself, leaning against the arm of the sofa before settling upon it. Hathaway remained standing, watching him carefully, still holding his forgotten cigarette.

“You sound so certain.”

“I don’t have time for uncertainty. I love you, and that’s that. I’m not going to change me mind. I know you — you think I will, but I won’t.”

“It’s been _two months_!”

“Six years, you mean!” Lewis’s voice quieted. “Just because we’ve only been sleeping together for two months… The important part came before that, didn’t it?”

No question in his mind. Six years. Just thinking about it that way — it’s dizzying. Six years. He’s part of me. What did I do to deserve that? I’ll never understand why he likes me. Loves me. He loves me. Those words. He doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean. What I love about him. Makes me want to climb inside him. He’d say I’m already there. And he’s in me. Don’t know what to say to him. What do you say? Always at a loss for words.

Lewis regarded Hathaway steadily, waiting for an answer. Hathaway fiddled with the cigarette. Finally, he looked up, crushing the cigarette when he stuffed it into his pocket.

Need to touch him. Want him suddenly.

“Come here.”

Hathaway came, head bowed. He fit himself between Lewis’s legs, into his arms. Lewis rested his head on Hathaway’s chest, much shorter than his usual height, perched as he was. Hathaway’s hands came up to cradle Lewis’s head, fingers weaving in his hair. They stayed that way, silent, for a long minute.

“Bloody hell. Don’t scare me like that again.” Lewis said into Hathaway’s shirt, tightening his embrace.

Why didn’t I tell him before? Things I want to forget. Didn’t want to talk about them. But he knew about Lord Mortmaigne and never mentioned him. I should trust him more. How does he put up with me? Anyone else would’ve given up long ago.

Hathaway pulled back and bent to kiss Lewis, lightly at first, then open-mouthed and full of need, his fingers working at the buttons of Lewis’s shirt. He slid to his knees, hands on Lewis’s thighs.

“Settle down. We’re not doing any of that right now. You’re in no state.” He clasped one of Hathaway’s hands in his, then stood. “I’m going to make some tea, and you’re going to drink it.” He crossed to the kitchen, filled the kettle, and switched it on to boil.

The way he treats me. Not used to it. Lust secondary. Main thing for Fiona — the way I looked. Could never be normal enough for her. Disasters with Zoe and Scarlett. Those few one night stands with men. Thinking God might strike me down. Half waiting for it. Half lost in how it felt. More intense when you think you’ll be punished. The looks on their faces, like I was acting odd. Nothing ever made sense. Always blowing up in my face.

Hathaway sat on one of the stools beside the worktop, watching Lewis in silence.

I like to watch him move. Efficient. How many cups of tea has he made in his life? Struggle with it as a child. Things get easier as you grow older, then more difficult again. Aunt Mary dropping things, hands shaking. Helping her cut her toenails when she couldn’t reach anymore. When we met, he didn’t know yet that he understood my grief. Hole in the middle of him. Things taken from us early. Night is coming. He’s right. I should be grateful for each day. Deal with tomorrow when it comes. Six years. Seems like yesterday. I want six more. And after that? Faith in the unknown. Leap.

Lewis poured the water into the mugs, then came round to the other side of the worktop. He touched Hathaway’s face with gentle fingers. “My lamb.”

Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would take me…

“I thought I was your octopus.”

Though I sang in my chains like the sea.

Lewis smiled. “Yeah, that, too.”

“My great-aunt Mary used to give me tea and ginger biscuits.” Hathaway paused. “I lived with her. After my mother. My father couldn’t deal with me. With anything, really. He drank himself to death.”

“I thought it was something like that.”

“You speculated.”

“You’ve not had an easy time of things. I wish I could change that.”

He has.

Hathaway took one of Lewis’s hands and kissed the wrist, the palm. He stood so he could kiss Lewis properly, deliberate and slow, one hand on his chest, the other at his back. After a few minutes, Lewis extricated himself to tend to the tea. He dunked the bags once. He pressed each of them against a spoon before tossing them into the bin. He spooned sugar into his mug, but not into Hathaway’s. He fetched the milk from the fridge and poured it with practised gestures. He stirred the tea.

God in all things. In his fingers on the handle of a silver spoon. Milk clouding up through dark tea. The burn of the mug against my fingers. The sound of his gestures, his steps. The warmth of his body beside mine. Replace other memories with these. Grateful I’m alive right now, sitting here with him. Haven’t often felt that way. When he smiles at me. Cycle of life. I’ll be like him later. Less like my parents. His arm round me, changing history.

‘’ 

“Hathaway?”

Innocent poked her head into the office, just as Hathaway was unwrapping his sandwich, paying it only half his attention. The other half was focussed on leftover paperwork from the drug trial case. Hathaway set his sandwich down and looked at Innocent inquiringly.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Where’s Lewis?” She entered the room and stood beside his desk.

“He popped out for a bit. I expect he’ll be back shortly.”

Mysterious. He wouldn’t tell me where he was going. Acting a bit odd again, like he was keeping something from me. Seemed in a good mood. Nothing to worry about, then.

“Ah. Everything all right between you two?” Innocent looked directly at Hathaway, studying him.

What does she mean? Something I don’t know about? Or does she suspect?

“Ma’am?” Hathaway said carefully.

“Things seemed tense yesterday. He’s been doing so well since his holiday. It had me worried.”

“The case,” Hathaway said. “I expect Briony reminded him of Lyn.”

“I suppose so. It’s a shame. She was so young.”

Hathaway didn’t answer. Innocent looked at him, as if expecting a reply.

That look of pity people get. The look they used to get when they heard about my parents. Thought they knew everything about me, as if something like that defines who you are. Different life, different person? I’d be different if none of it had ever happened, but maybe not in the ways people think. Never know what you’ll carry with you in life. Is he Val’s death? Large part of him. Who would he be if she hadn’t died? He wouldn’t be with me.

“Well. If everything’s all right…”

“Definitely,” Hathaway assured her.

“You’ll keep me posted, won’t you? If there’s anything I should know about.”

“Of course.”

Feel my ears going pink. If she only knew. Our private lives. It’s been two days, but I can still feel him inside me.

“Good.”

Lewis appeared at the door, carrying a sandwich.

“Robbie,” Innocent said, caught unawares. “I was just checking in. All’s well, is it?”

Must have sensed him nearing. Tingle in my body.

“Wrapping up loose ends,” Lewis said. “Nothing to report.”

“Excellent,” she said, departing.

They both watched her go.

“What was that about?”

Hathaway shrugged. “She thought we were having a domestic.”

Lewis smiled, briefly meeting Hathaway’s eyes. “Ah.” He sat down at his desk.

Hathaway consulted his watch. “You were gone for an hour and a half. And you’re being…secretive.”

“Never mind. I’ve a little surprise for you is all.”

“A surprise? What is it?”

“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?” Lewis opened his sandwich and took a bite.

‘’ 

Hathaway sat on Lewis’s sofa, playing his guitar. A bottle of beer stood half full on the coffee table. He played a few chords, stopped, then began again. The sound of the door opening caught his attention, and he set the guitar aside.

Lewis appeared in the doorway, carrying a large cardboard box in one hand and a shopping bag in the other. Hathaway got up to shut the door behind him, eyeing the packages curiously.

“Have you brought an animal home?”

A plaintive meow came from within the cardboard carrier.

“That should be obvious, Sergeant.” Lewis set the box down and crouched to open the flaps.

Inside the box, a small, grey cat cowered, observing them for a moment before leaping out. The cat assessed the room, then ran quickly to hide under the sofa.

“Was that my surprise?”

“She doesn’t know she’s your surprise. Poor lass. Frightened, I expect. She’ll succumb to your charms soon enough.”

“Like you did?”

“Yeah.” Lewis stood up, leaning to give Hathaway a kiss.

“Thank you.” He pushed up against Lewis, wrapping him in long arms. “Will she stay here?”

“You do. No sense in taking her to your flat, is there?”

How did he know I liked cats? Never talk about them. Always running round the barn at Crevecoeur. I saw them when I hid in the loft. Beat up old tabby with no ear. Always rubbing up against me. Comforting. Felt she understood me sometimes. Sensed my moods. Cried and cried when one of the terriers killed her.

“She’s nearly a year old, and no one wanted her. They told me she’d been there for months. But she seems sweet enough.”

Tender-hearted. Give it time, and she’ll rule the flat. Climb all over him. Tear up the sofa. And he’ll dote on her.

“Laura said she’d come by when we’re gone. Feed her and whatnot.”

“You think of everything, sir.” Hathaway released Lewis, got down on his hands and knees beside the sofa, and peered under it. The cat stared back at him from the darkness. He petted her gently until she began to purr and rub tentatively against his hand with her face.

Shouldn’t push it. She’ll come out in her own time.

Hathaway clambered to his feet. In the kitchen, Lewis was setting out dishes of food and water. An empty litter tray lay on the floor.

“I got her dinner, but I forgot about yours.” He opened the fridge, sighing when he saw what was inside.

“Should I order something?” Hathaway joined Lewis in the kitchen, opening the cupboards to examine their contents. “There are lentils. I could make you a curry. Or soup?”

“Lentil soup is me favourite.”

Why didn’t I know that? I’ve been eating with him for six years. How long can you know someone before you know everything? But we’re always changing. Stop paying attention, find yourself with someone new.

“You could go get some bread.”

“All right,” Lewis agreed, coming up behind Hathaway.

Love when he touches me. Can’t keep my hands off him. Have to remind myself at work. Stop myself putting a hand on his arm. Stop myself leaning too close. Just my luck to have someone notice when I slip up. Or if I call him Robbie. I’d rather call him ‘sir’ in front of Lyn. Fewer consequences.

Hathaway turned to face Lewis, and Lewis kissed him chastely on the mouth, then the cheek, pulling back to have a look at his face.

“You’re still worried.”

“You gave me a scare the other night.”

Hathaway bowed his head in acknowledgement.

They stood in silence until Lewis said, “You do remind me of me son sometimes. He was always telling me I didn’t spend enough time with him. I played cricket with him. I helped him with his homework. He needed more than that, but I thought he was a big lad, and he should learn to be by himself. I should’ve listened to what he was saying. Things that were important to him — they should’ve been to me, too.”

His regrets. A lifetime of trying to rewrite things he feels he did wrong. Even outside of work, we’re similar. Lost son he might have kept had he done things differently. Not sure that’s the case. I know he was a good father. Pains him that Tom is so distant.

“It was nothing you did.”

“With Tom? Or with you?”

Hathaway smiled. “Both.”

“But it was right after we…”

Pointedly, Hathaway put his hands over Lewis’s heart, framing it between his thumbs and index fingers. “This,” Hathaway said, “Here. Take care of it.”

“What do you —?” Lewis said, confused. “My heart?”

Hathaway bent to kiss it through Lewis’s shirt.

“All right. Don’t fret. I’m doing me best. You and Lyn. Two peas. She’ll love having you around.”

Hathaway smiled, straightening up. He turned to get the lentils out of the cupboard. “Onion?”

“Yeah, I’ve got one.” Lewis gave Hathaway’s bum a pat before opening the fridge again.

‘’ 

The cat was nowhere to be found. Barefoot and boxer-clad, Hathaway wandered the flat, checking under the sofa, under the bed, in the airing cupboard, in the wardrobe, and finally in the lower cupboards of the kitchen.

Could she have escaped? Must be frightening for her. How many homes has she had in her young life? Born in an alley somewhere, abandoned, taken up by a family, then abandoned again? Unknown history.

When he opened the cupboard across from the fridge, he found her. She lay curled in a saucepan, looking up at him, unsurprised. Hathaway smiled and knelt to rub the side of her face with his thumb.

“Robbie!”

“Yeah?” Lewis appeared a moment later, dressed for bed. He crouched down beside Hathaway. “Bless. How’s our lass?” He scratched under her chin, and she lifted it to accommodate him.

He once told me he was set in his ways, but he’s made room for me. Room in the wardrobe. Room in the flat. Room for the cat. Where thou lodgest, I will lodge. Thy people shall be my people. Room in his family. Bringing me to Lyn’s. Aunt Mary, same. Close to 70 when she took me in. Alone all those years, then suddenly a fourteen-year-old boy in the house. Can’t have been easy. Sometimes people surprise me with their generosity. Does it make up for the ones who shock me with their cruelty? Maybe.

“I didn’t know cats could open cupboards.”

“Gifted,” Lewis said.

“Do you think I can teach her to read?”

“I wouldn’t put it past you.” Lewis scratched a bit more. “She seems content. She’s got her little nest in there.”

“If she got in, she can get out.”

Lewis nodded and closed the cupboard door. “You’ll have to think of a name for her.”

“Didn’t she have one before?” Hathaway asked as they walked to the bedroom together.

“Minerva McGonagall. What does that mean?”

“Harry Potter.”

“Ah. It’s a bit long. And she doesn’t respond to it.”

Lewis turned back the covers and climbed in on his side of the bed. Hathaway watched him settling in, the lone lamp casting a warm glow over him.

His eyes in this light. Ours both blue. He says mine are like the ocean. Drown in me. His more like the sky on autumn evenings. Glean in his fields. This bed. Our bed. Bedside tables on both sides now.

Hathaway got in on his side, but he remained sitting up, gazing down at Lewis.

“What?” Lewis asked.

“I like this bed.”

Cosier than mine. Feels more beddy. Why is that? Safe. Like the cat in her saucepan.

Lewis patted it with one hand. “You helped me pick it out. I’d almost forgotten. I never thought I’d be sharing it with you!”

Didn’t think of me that way until I asked him to. My hands under his t-shirt. Scattering of hair on his chest, his stomach. Know it without looking. Spread therefore thy skirt over thine handmaid. But I’m not a handmaid. Spread thy skirt over thine sergeant. Over thine James. Supplanter. Ten years he was faithful. Like Penelope. Now I’m in his bed. Not his marriage bed. My bed. Our bed. I want him again. Inside me. Weave our bodies together.

Lewis shifted beneath Hathaway’s hands, breath coming faster.

My beloved spake, and said unto me, Rise up, my love. For, lo, the winter is past. Warmth. Then heat. I caused that. Make him ignite with my touch. Ask him. Ask him, and he’ll answer.

 

_the end_

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s notes:  
> Let’s not go into how much time I spent fretting over what bible to use for the snatches of verse Hathaway recalls. I finally decided on the King James because I think it’s the one whose language Hathaway would prefer. Even if he was educated by Catholics, he’d have studied the King James at Cambridge.
> 
> The cat: For one thing, I didn’t think about Monty when I first started this series, and for another, there’s no evidence Lewis keeps him after bringing him home in Dead of Winter. Thus, the new cat.


End file.
